Luck of the Patriot
by Mystery Missy
Summary: Captain America, the poster boy for American patriotism, a pure bred American man, that's what people thought. No one really remembered he was Irish American, and his Irish heritage was something he took pride in. Some little bits of life as he slowly reminds people of his Irish roots.
1. Accent

**This is just for shits and giggles. I may continue, I may not.**

* * *

They had heard his Brooklyn accent when he was relaxed, having some fun, or excited about something. They had heard his forties slang, and understood none of it. What they hadn't heard was the Irish accent he was now sporting after drinking a little too much Asgardian mead, and the strange Irish slang he tossed about.

"Pour me another glass, will ya?" Steve slurred, hanging his glass to Thor who happily filled it again, glad that the Captain was enjoying the mead.

"Uh, maybe slow down on the drinks, Cap." Natasha mentions, feeling confused, and she didn't like to feel confused. Since when was he Irish? Is it just because he's drunk?

"Ah, the hell with it! Havin' fun, I am! No fockin' missions to worry 'bout, atallatall."

Tony kept staring at Steve, happy that Jarvis was recording this moment as he asked. It was like seeing all the wonders of the world at once, nothing like this might ever happen again, it should be savored.

"Ah, feck!" Steve stumbled and hit his shin against a chair, then drinking his mead as if that could help his situation. Bruce leaned over to Tony, wondering if they should help the poor man walk.

"Maybe we should call it a night." He winced as Steve basically breathed in the mead.

"Bruce ya slag!" Steve bellowed, having heard him. "I'm not legless yet." He smirked pouring more mead, which by now even Thor was questioning if he should be stopped before he died of alcohol poisoning. "Sláinte!" He cheered and began to greedily gulp the mead down. When the cup was empty, Steve fell like a sack of bricks, the cup clattering as it fell from his hands, though not breaking. Everyone watched wide eyed as Steve passed out, snoring on impact.

The next morning was a doozy. The last time Steve had a hangover like this was his birthday before he had gotten the serum. Groaning, he shoved the covers over his head as the sunlight blinded him.

"Jarvis, lights." He mumbled, barely aware enough to question whether or not the A.I understood him. He did however and suddenly the light dimmed as the windows were tinted near black. "Thanks." Sitting up, he had to hold himself as he believed he would puke everywhere. When he didn't, he continued to rise and carelessly threw on a shirt.

The ride down to the common area was hell, and Steve wanted nothing more than to drop dead. Of course he had to perpetuate the stereotype of the Irish all be alcoholics, oh how his grandparents would be disappointed. Well, on second thought his grandfather was a drunkard, so he wasn't really making any point there. But still, how dare he.

Exiting the elevator, Steve was greeted by the delectable aroma of food. Stomach growling, he followed his nose into the kitchen and salivated at the mountain of food on the table. Bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, pancakes, waffles, and fruit. He was starving. Apparently, he was the only one dealing with a lethal hangover, as no one else was downing aspirin like it was fine wine. 'No, don't think about drinks.' Steve winced, taking his seat.

Bruce was sitting beside him, and he handed Steve some aspirin and orange juice, a sympathetic grin on his face. Steve happily took the medicine and took large sips of juice. He then began to shovel food into his mouth, absolutely famished. Everyone looked on in amusement, unnoticed by Steve. They all knew that they would have to show him the video Jarvis took of last night, just to see the tips of his ears turn pink from embarrassment. At least now they knew, keep Steve's drinking to a limit.


	2. Music

When everyone moved into the tower, it was an adjustment for everyone. While they ate dinner together every night, had weekly team bonding days, and were practically family at this point, they all noticed that Steve would sulk off when he thought no one was looking. Eventually, they got curious.

"Look, he's probably just tired." Bruce said, wanting to give Steve his privacy.

"Sure, maybe, but why be so sneaky about it?" Tony raised a point, leading them all to Steve's room. He wanted to know what was so secretive that he had to hide away from the rest of them. Was he watching porn? Did the oh so moral Cap like to get down and dirty and then hide in shame? Maybe, and that's what Tony wanted to know.

"Stark has a point." Clint shrugged, going along with this because he was bored.

"Thanks Legolas." He smirked, exiting the elevator on Steve's floor.

Walking into the apartment, they heard something coming from Steve's room, and not the moans and sounds of erotic pornography that Tony half expected, but music. Confused, the Avengers shared a look before sneaking up to Steve's door, Natasha quietly opening it with all the skill of an assassin.

Inside, they saw Steve resting against his headboard, one leg stretched out on the bed while the other hung down, his foot tapping to a beat. They all watched mesmerized by his fingers which moved deftly as he blew into a tin whistle, playing a complicated sounding song. They all knew he was a quick man on missions, but the way his fingers moved was something else, and the music he was producing, it was beautiful. It held a celtic tone to it, and Bruce was the one to recognise it was the song played in Titanic during the third class party, Blarney Pilgrim.

Steve had yet to notice them as he was so enamored in his music, looking out the window of his room. Soon, the song came to an end, and he set the tin whistle down, looking happy with himself. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of applause.

"Gah!" Steve jumped up, heart racing. He looked down nervously as he realized they had watched him play and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, shifting back and forth on his feet. "What are you guys doing here?" He asked, clearing his throat as he was still reeling from embarrassment at being caught.

"We didn't know you played an instrument." Natasha said, looking surprised. At any other moment, he would have smirked at surprising the Black Widow, but he was just too embarrassed now.

"Well, I, it's never really come up in conversation. Never thought to mention it." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"It was wonderful music, Steven. You need not be so abashed." Thor grinned, his whole stature and tone oozing honesty. Smiling, Steve nodded, quietly thanking the demigod.

"Any other secret musical talents, Cap?" Tony questioned, leaning against the wall.

"I, I can play the fiddle."

Tony was a curious man, and that was why he placed a ten thousand dollar violin on Cap's bed. He wanted to know what exactly Steve's musical skill set was. So when Steve walked into the common area with the violin in hand, he felt nothing but success.

"Hey Cap, I see you found the gift I gave you. Though, I know nothing of violins, so why don't you check if it's properly tuned and stuff." Tony grinned, the others joining him on the large couch to watch Steve play.

"You didn't have to do this, you know." Steve said, but he still wore an appreciative smile on his face. The others smiled back, and he sighed, tuning the violin as he placed it on his shoulder and rested his chin on it.

Memories came rushing back to him as he strummed the bow across the string, playing away. He remembered playing Drunken Sailor for Bucky, laughing as he danced along to the music. Steve had always put his heart and soul into the music when playing, and once again he did tonight, singing along in his mind.

_What you're gonna do with a drunken sailor?_

_What you're gonna do with a drunken sailor?_

_What you're gonna do with a drunken sailor?_

_Early in the morning!_

He played on, creating a reel of various celtic tunes, tapping hit foot along with the beat. Lost in his own little world, he swore that his cheeks began to ache with how large his smile was, reconnecting with something he had left behind so long ago.

When he finished, everyone cheered and applauded him, Natasha and Clint throwing flowers from one of the vases Pepper had placed in the room to liven it up. Steve laughed a full belly laugh, playfully bowing as he had finished his performance.

It had been a long time since he played, a long time since he had the freedom to enjoy his heritage. He could only do so in secret with his ma, learning about his roots without prejudice. He would have never been able to play like this in front of anyone but Bucky or his ma, so playing in front of his team, his family, it meant the whole world to him.


	3. Food

**Just a short thing, my well of creativity is practically empty, and I don't know how to feel about this. It's cute, it's wholesome, but not my best.**

* * *

With six people living in one tower, only two knew how to cook. Clint and Steve usually cooked, on the rare days they didn't order out, and the team absolutely loved their cooking. Clint's specialty were casserole. Any kind of casserole, be it goulash, baked ziti, flying Jacob, kugel, chili mac, you name it. Steve on the other hand made amazing breakfast, which is why he stuck with making breakfast and Clint made dinner. Tonight however, Clint had a broken arm from a nasty fall. It wasn't even from a mission, he was crawling in the vents while drunk and fell out into Tony's lab, so dinner duty was on Steve tonight.

There was something Steve had been craving for years now, during the forties carrying on into the future. It was something his ma used to make when they could afford it, usually during Christmas or his birthday. It had been so long since he's had it, but he remembers every single ingredient she used.

He had bought all the ingredients earlier in the afternoon, and he set them on the kitchen counter to begin cooking. Steve began cutting the mutton into small chunks, tossing them in the large pot. As he let the meat cook, he began to work on mashing the potatoes, humming under his breath.

From outside the kitchen, Tony kept peeking in to see what Steve was making, mouth watering at the smell of food. Steve had made it very clear that no one was to come into the kitchen while he cooked, as he wanted to surprise everyone with the meal he made. While he could have Jarvis send him a video feed of what Steve was doing, Tony found he wanted to be surprised.

It felt like hours had passed before dinner was done, though it had barely hit the hour mark. Everyone gathered at the table, eager to see what Steve cooked up. Steve had already placed both dishes and a batch of homemade rolls on the table, proud of his work. Lifting the pid off the large pot, he let them dig in.

It was a kind of stew that no one was really familiar with, and a side of mashed potatoes mixed with scallions. Natasha helped Clint make his plate, as she knew he'd made a mess if she didn't, and Clint was the first to take a bite of the stew.

"Wow, this is amazing." He took another large bite, moaning theatrically at the flavor. "What is it?"

"It's Irish stew with a side of champ, something my ma used to make for my birthdays and Christmas." Steve reminisced, remembering back to his childhood at the smell of the stew and freshly baked rolls.

Everyone noted the dream like smile he wore, clearly thinking back to another time, one that was long gone. No one asked any questions about his childhood, his mother, not wanting to upset him, but they all rained their praise down upon Steve, savoring the meal he had put his heart and soul into. And if Steve smiled just a little wider because of it, he wouldn't tell a soul.


	4. Language

**Tony speaks Italian, Natasha speaks Russian, Clint signs, Thor speaks Norwegian because there isn't a translator for ancient Norse, Steve speaks Gaelic, and Bruce speaks English cause it was his first language. All translations from Google translate so I doubt it's all accurate, but bear with me.**

* * *

There was never a time in Tony's life that he was so thrilled to have made real time translators. Jarvis was currently translating four different languages for Bruce, who looked defeated by the entire situation. Clint was furiously signing away, subtitles being displayed on the wall by a projector so the others could understand. While normally Natasha could understand sign language, it seemed all understanding of it had been wiped from her mind, as well the other languages she spoke. The translator she wore in her ear was the only reason she was able to understand the other, as well as the projections of whatever Clint signed written out in Russian. So far, they all understood one thing, they hated aliens.

They had just gotten back from a mission, Bruce excluded from it since it wasn't a code green, and he was happy to be left back at the lab to tinker and create. Tony came into the lab grumbling about something, but Bruce couldn't understand because he was speaking Italian. It didn't surprise Bruce, as he had seen Tony mutter to himself in Italian, or when he was completely wasted, switch between English and Italian, sometimes halfway through words.

"Didn't go well, I'm guessing." Bruce said as he wrote down an equation, not looking up at Tony.

Tony squinted, as if trying to understand something. He had heard Bruce speak, but damn it if he understood what he said. Part of Tony was worried the guy had a stroke.

"Non so cosa hai appena detto." Tony frowned, a little too tired and annoyed to deal with it right now.

Bruce looked up from his work, confused why Tony was still speaking Italian. He watched as Tony kept muttering in the language, not once speaking in English.

"Tony," Bruce called, walking over with a small flash light as he was concerned that Tony had gotten a concussion and didn't realize what language he was speaking. "Can you understand me?"

Tony felt confused as Bruce kept speaking, but not making any sense. He approached with a light, shining it in his eyes. Annoyed, he took the light and put it in his pocket.

"Stai bene? Ora sta diventando strano."

"Tony, I don't speak Italian." Bruce sighed, running a hand over his face.

Tony's eyes lit up as he finally recognised a word that came from Bruce's mouth. Italian. Was he speaking Italian? Curious, Tony jogged over to a table where he had left the translators he was working on, and he put one in his ear as he handed the other to Bruce.

"Can you understand me, Bruce." Tony asked, Jarvis translating what he said into english for Bruce.

"Yeah. Why were you speaking Italitan?"

"I had no idea that I was. The entire time I just thought you were having some sort of stroke because I couldn't understand a word you said until you said Italian."

Bruce frowned, curious as to what caused this. Just as he was about to ask Tony if anything strange happened on the mission, Natasha burst into the lab with Clint in tow, Thor following behind, confused.

"Может ли кто-нибудь здесь понять меня?" She asked in Russian, clearly a little agitated. At the confused looks, she sighed, shaking her head.

Tony grabbed another translator, giving one to Natasha, who took it without question, placing it in her ear.

"Testing, Romanoff. Can you understand me?" Tony spoke, Natasha hearing the translation in her ear.

"Sadly." She crossed her arms, Clint still standing close behind her as he looked on confused, just like Thor. The God then spoke up, making everyone sigh.

"Jeg forstår ikke hva som skjer" With a grumble, Tony retrieved yet another translator and gave it to Thor.

"I can not understand your words." He said, off put by the events as he should be able to understand every language.

"It seems you've all reverted back to your first languages." Bruce theorized, the only native English speaker in the room. "Natasha is Russian, Thor is a Norse God, Tony's nannies taught him Italian since he was little, I'm going to take a guess and say that Clint is only able to communicate in sign language." To test the theory, Bruce signed to Clint, asking if he could understand what anyone was saying.

(Not a clue.)

"Okay, how did this happen?" Tony questioned, thinking back to the mission. It was a simple mission, fight some aliens and get out. Although, they did have that strange ray gun that was shot at them, but nothing physical happened, so Tony assumed it was faulty, unless. "The ray gun. It revert us back to our native languages."

Just as Tony and Bruce began to speculate as to how it managed to do it, Steve walked in, clearly confused as to why everyone was crowded in the lab.

"Cén fáth a bhfuil gach duine sa saotharlann?" He asked, and everyone turned to stare at him, eyes wide with confusion. "Cad? An bhfuil rud éigin cearr?"

"Now what the hell is he speaking?!" Tony demanded, throwing an exasperated hand towards Steve as he moved to get another translator. He thrust the translator at Steve, wanting to fix this situation as fast as possible. "Put this on." He instructed.

"Níl a fhios agam cad a dúirt tú, Tony." Steve raised a hand in surrender, confused. Sighing, Tony placed the translator in Steve's ear and then stood back with his hands on his hips.

"There. That's better." Turning, Tony walked back to Bruce leaving Steve even more confused.

"Can someone explain what's going on?" Steve questioned, not liking how he was left out of this.

"Seems like we're speaking our native languages." Natasha explained, then her expression turned curious. "What is your first language, Cap? You're not speaking English like Bruce."

"Well, growing up, my ma taught me Irish Gaelic. I spoke that before I knew any english." Steve admits, blushing as he looked down.

As a kid, he wasn't aloud to speak Irish Gaelic outside of the house, and even then he would have to hide it from his pa who forbade it. People weren't too kind to the Irish during that time, and Steve felt it was unfair. He wanted to be proud of his language.

Natasha gave a soft smile, one that comforted Steve. Times had changed, he didn't have to hide his mother language anymore.

While Tony and Bruce worked on a way to fix their issue, Steve went off to somewhere quiet and just talked. He read aloud from his book, sang songs, and even said the names of whatever was in the room just so he could hear himself speaking Gaelic.

"Cathaoirleach. Tábla. Fuinneog. Doras. Staighre. Bróg." He took so much enjoyment from such a simple thing. And when Tony and Bruce had their breakthrough and fixed the problem, Steve knew he wouldn't stop speaking in Gaelic, just to confuse the others.

"Is it working, can you all understand me?" Tony asked, waving his translator in his hand.

"Sadly." Clint spoke, not signing this time.

"Rude, but yay! We're geniuses!" Tony highfived Bruce, Bruce knowing he would never leave him alone if he didn't. Everyone turned in their translators, glad to be understood again. "Cap, it's your turn to pick out dinner." Tony said, passing by Steve.

"Cad é faoi Iodáilis anocht?" Steve asked, smirking as everyone, minus Thor, stopped what they were doing and stared at Steve. Tony immediately began to go over the calculations again, questioning why Steve wasn't speaking English.

"That sounds like a pleasant idea, Steven." Thor smiled, having been the only one to understand him.

The two began to walk out of the lab, Steve speaking in Gaelic as Thor nodded and laughed at certain moments. Before they completely left, however, Steve turned to Tony and pointed.

"Also it's your turn to do the dishes." And with that, he left, leaving behind a sputtering and confused Tony Stark.

"Bruce, he tricked me!"

"I know he did."

"I don't like it."

"I'm sure."

"I'm wearing these forever now." Tony huffed, putting on the translator again and marching out after Steve and Thor, confident that now he will understand, unaware that Natasha turned it off.

"How long do you think it will take for him to notice?" She questioned Clint. He thought for a moment, tapping his chin.

"I'd day fifteen minutes."

It took twenty.

* * *

**Translations**

**Tony-**

**I don't know what you just said.**

**Are you okay? This is getting weird now.**

**Natasha-**

**Can anyone here understand me?**

**Thor-**

**I do not understand what is happening.**

**Steve-**

**Why is everyone in the lab?**

**What? Is there something wrong?**

**I don't know what you said, Tony.**

**Chair. Table. Window. Door. Stairs. Shoe.**

**How about Italian tonight?**


	5. Legends

**This was supposed to be spooky but it just got sad. I'm sorry, but not really.**

* * *

Everyone has had their fair share of crazy experiences, and everyone has also experienced something scary or unexplained. The Avengers were no exception to this rule, and so, during a dark and stormy night, Tony decided they should all regale in some strange and spooky stories as they cracked open a bottle of extremely expensive wine. As the one who came up with the idea, Tony went first.

"Okay, so I was about seven years old, and my mom had bought some creepy antique painting at an auction. It was real disturbing, fading and the paint was beginning to crack and chip, and I swear the eyes followed you everywhere you went. Anyway, she put it up over the fireplace and soon we all went to bed. I was in my bed, trying to sleep when I heard something weird. A woman's voice coming from the lounge. It wasn't my mom's voice or a maid or one my nannies at the time, but some german lady. Then, there were footsteps, leading to my room." Tony paused for effect, taking a drink of wine.

"A shadow passed over the doorway and spilled into my room, but there wasn't anyone standing at my door. Suddenly, the air around me had gotten significantly colder than it should have in the middle of summer, and a voice whispered in my ear." Tony hunched over mimicking an old woman. "'Have you seen my son?'" Straightening, he shivered. "Never in my life had I been so freaked out."

Natasha quietly chuckled as he finished the story, planning on how to prove him wrong. It was a little hard to think that Tony believed in spirits, but Clint supposed anything was possible. I mean, he was drinking in the presence of a Norse God and had fought a bunch of aliens. Ghosts aren't exactly out of the realm of possibility.

"I've got a good story." Clint clapped his hands, knowing he was about to one up Tony. "During my days in the circus, weird things happened a lot, but hey, it was the circus. It was already super weird." He shrugged. "But one day we get this new contortionist named Lucille. She was a pretty young thing, real sweet and shy, a big hit with the kids. Two months go by, and soon some cops show up with posters of missing persons. They explain that they attended our shows and were never seen again. Being the circus, we all stick together, keep our lips shut to protect our own. Lucille starts getting real shy and antsy around the cops, so our strong guy, Floyd, tells them to leave and has the lion tamer take her to the big tent." Clint smirks, knowing the good part is coming up and would absolutely shock the team. "That night, I'm walking around, talking with Floyd when we hear something weird coming from Lucille's tent. A little worried, we go to check on her. Floyd pulls back the curtain and we both gag at the smell that comes out. Inside, Lucille is on the ground, covered in blood, eating an arm, and three of the missing persons were in the corner with teeth marks on their faces."

Clint grins at the disgusted looks the team gives, Tony setting down his wine, red wine to be specific, and pushes it away.

"What happened to Lucille?" Bruce asked, slightly curious, and slightly regretting asking.

"Not sure. By the time police had arrived, she had just vanished, which made it very awkward for me cause I had slept with her the day before, but whatever. It happens."

Clint leans back, finishing his wine as he ignores the odd looks and the disbelieving glare given by Natasha and the others. Tony shakes his head, as if trying to rid himself very disturbing mental images.

"Okay," He says, pursing his lips. "Anyone else have a disturbing, creepy, and or cannibalistic story to share?" Natasha and Bruce shook their heads, never encountering anything they couldn't explain away or had found scary in a paranormal way. Nor had they met cannibal contortionists. Thor had lived a long life, but had never encountered anything he deemed as odd. If he saw a giant, well, it was just another Tuesday for him, so that left Steve, to which everyone turned to him. "Oh Capsicle, anything to share?"

"Well," Steve began to debate to himself, looking up to see the eager expressions of the team. "I have two stories. One happened to my mom when she was a little girl, and the other happened to me what feels like only eight years ago."

Everyone leaned in, already enthralled by the stories he had yet to tell. Chuckling, Steve finished his wine and took a breath.

"Ma was nine when this happened to her. She and my granddad were walking home from church. It was raining, foggy, she could barely see in front of her. She said, the fog suddenly began to part, as if something invisible was coming through, and she could hear the clomping of hooves on the stone road. She said granddad stopped and began to pray, reaching into his coat pocket. The sounds had come closer now, and out from the fog came a man on a horse, only he had no head. His horse was pitch black and he held a whip made from a human spine. He came charging for my ma and granddad, but granddad took out a small golden cross on a leather cord, and she swears that the horse reared back at the sight of it, the man screaming from nothing, and then they ran away. She asked, 'What was that?' shaking in terror. Granddad kissed the cross and said, 'That was the Dullahan, Sara. We're lucky to be alive.' Since that day, my ma always wore a golden cross." Steve finished, looking up. He didn't know when he started to look down, lost in the memory of his mother telling him the story for the thousandth time. Everyone looked so captivated by the story, feeling the genuine tone Steve spoke with.

"And what happened to you?" Natasha questioned, leaning forward with her elbows propped up on her knees, chin resting in her hands.

"I grew up in a small neighborhood with a lot of Irish immigrants, but one elderly lady who lived next to us always came over and told me stories of Ireland. She always talked about the banshee, and how it will soon tell her family she was going to die. Every Irish family has a banshee, and if you see her and hear her scream, someone in your family will die soon. When I was eighteen, ma got sick, really sick." Steve swallowed, rubbing his hands together. "I was coming home with some medicine for ma when I saw a woman outside our house. She had long gray hair, a ratty dress that looked soaking wet, and her nails were long and unkempt. Coming closer, I could hear her crying. I was about to ask her is she was alright when she let out a blood curdling shriek. It scared me so bad, I had an asthma attack right there." Steve chuckled despite himself, then became serious once more, messing with the sleeves of his shirt. "She vanished in front of my eyes, and I thought to myself, that was a banshee. I ran inside the house, straight to my ma's room. She was alive still, and I tried to make myself believe I had seen things, but I hadn't, and she passed during the night."

Finishing his story, Steve wiped a few tears that had welled up in his eyes. It had happened so long ago, he had come to terms with her death with the help of Bucky, but telling that story, it made his heart ache. He was surprised by the gentle hand that placed itself on his cheek, and he looked up to see Natasha. She smiled down sweetly at him and embraced him, combing through his hair.

"Thank you." He smiled, leaning into the hug. The other stood up and joined in, hugging Steve to show him they were there for him. Steve looked around at the people he called family, and knew that he would always have someone there for him. For years, it had been just him, his ma, and Bucky, and while his ma had her cross to keep her safe, he had his friends. She would be so proud, he was sure of it.


	6. Leprechaun

**Steve Rogers is a little shit.**

* * *

Clint had made it his mission to show Steve the best movies, comics, video games, and he and Tony had thought of a movie that they thought Steve would love. The Leprechaun! He was of Irish decent, so it would be right up his alley! At least that was what they thought.

"Cap!" Cint jumped down from the vents, landing in front of Steve who was minding his own business, drinking some earl gray tea.

"I have a move for you to watch! Tony's already got everything set up, popcorn, candy, soda, so c'mon!" Clint jumped up and down like a child trying to show their parent something cool. Steve hesitated for a moment, but he really had nothing else to do today.

"Alright, show me this movie."

Clint cheered and dragged Steve to the cinema room, a place the team visited weekly for movies and occasional karaoke. Tony was sitting on one of the dozens of large bean bag chairs eating some caramel corn. Upon seeing Clint and Steve, he beckoned them over with a wave of his hand.

"He has arrived!" Tony exclaimed. "Ready for one for the best movies ever?"

"I thought the Shining was the best movie ever?" Steve questioned as he sat in a blue bean bag chair, grabbing a bag of pretzels. Clint flopped down on his belly in his purple bean bag with a family sized bag of sour gummy worms, kicking his feet up and swaying them back and forth.

"This movie, dear Capsicle, beats the Shining. Jarvis, play the movie."

Jarvis dimmed the lights and started the movie on the large screen that stretches almost the entire length of the wall. Tony and Clint glanced at Steve as the movie started, and smirked at the confused expression on Steve's face as the movie started.

"Behold, the Leprechaun!" Clint says, tossing a gummy worm in his mouth.

The credits began to roll, Clint's gummy worms all gone and Steve not looking away from the screen. Tony turned to look at Steve, smiling.

"So Cap, how did you like it?"

Steve slowly blinked, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, muttering under his breath.

"Íosa Críost uilechumhachtach." He sighed. "I have never been this offended in my entire life." Steve deadpanned. Clint and Tony's faces fell, confused and a little worried they did something stupid. "Not only was this a steaming pile of shit, it was an offence to my heritage, my entire being." Abruptly standing, Steve marched towards the doorway, turning around and pointing at Clint and Tony. "You two should be ashamed of yourselves!"

Steve stormed out of the room, swearing in Gaelic and english, leaving behind a stunned assassin, and bewildered genius. Tony opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say.

"I wasn't expecting that."

For the rest of that day, Steve was fuming, sending a few glares at Tony and Clint, who did their best to avoid the harsh glares. Bruce and Thor had no idea what caused this tension between their friends, but Natasha held them back from confronting them, saying everything was alright.

The next morning, Steve woke up to Clint and Tony setting the table of all of Steve's favorite breakfast foods, and a large pile of art supplies on the counter. As soon as the two men noticed Steve was in the room, they hurried to the table and made a gesture to their good will, smiling.

"Morning Cap! I hope you enjoy this wonderful breakfast we cooked."

"I cooked."

"Barton Cooked. And that brand of coffee you like. There is a whole entire pot just for you." Tony grabbed said pot of coffee and poured him a cup, handing it to Steve, who was hard to read with his calm and collected expression.

"And, I bought you a bunch of art supplies!" Clint jumped in, waving his arms towards the supplies, like a gameshow host.

"I bought you a new motorcycle. Top of the line."

"I'll take over your dish duty for an entire month, and do your laundry."

Steve watched the two men jump back and forth, trying to one up the other. Sighing, he took a drink of his coffee, and held his hand up.

"Thank you for all of this, really, but you didn't have to." Steve said, setting his mug down on the table.

"We just wanted to make up for the movie." Clint explained, rubbing the back of his neck. Steve paused, looking hesitant for a moment before crossing his arms.

"Well, I'm still a little mad, but if you want to make it up to me, I have a lot of paperwork I need to do from the last mission."

"Done!" Tony raised his hand. He and Clint moved at the same time towards the elevator, bumping into each other as they fought to get to his paperwork. Steve watched them leave, and as soon as the elevator closed, he smirked. Natasha had witnessed the entire thing and had finally entered into the dinning area, grabbing a piece of bacon and taking a bite from it.

"So how long are you going to play them for?" She asked, casting Steve a knowing look.

"Not that long. I just didn't want to do that paperwork." As an afterthought, Steve added, "And maybe get a digital sketch pad."

"Rogers, you're a little shit." Natasha chuckled.

"I know."

* * *

**Translations**

**Jesus Christ almighty**


	7. Racist?

**This is based on the 'Irish hate English' thing. Any mean name thrown at Steve or Otis is just purely for plot purposes and I do not mean to offend anyone, but c'mon, someone out there will be offended despite this being a work of fiction. Enjoy!**

* * *

Steve tried to do as much as he could for WW2 veterans, as he knew exactly what they went through, he was there. Going to nursing homes to help out, spreading awareness of the sacrifices those brave men and women gave during those hard times, it was the least he could do. There were times he had hoped to see a familiar face, but alas, he never did. Until one fateful day.

Steve wasn't at a nursing home, nor was he anywhere specific where he'd run into a veteran. The Avengers had a conference with the chief of police after helping take down a massive drug ring that had been shipping out LSD laced with cyanide. It was a mass murder attempt that was stopped in the nick of time. It had been handled and now everyone was parting ways, that's when someone tapped Steve's shoulder.

"Excuse me. Your Captain Rogers, correct?" An elderly man with a thick british accent. Steve turned around and smiled a he recognised the man instantly.

"Yes sir." Steve nodded. The man's face erupted in a large grin, cackling.

"Well I'll be damned, Rogers! They really did put your stickly arse in the army!" He chuckled, the other Avengers watching from the side. They realized that Steve must have known this man, and waited to see the emotional reunion.

"Otis, nice to see you're still a bellend." That wasn't what they were expecting.

"Oi, respect your elders, you little mick." Definitely not what they were expecting.

"I'm still older than you, English."

The Avengers looked back and forth between the two soldiers, wondering if they should do something before any media saw this. It was blatantly obvious what it looked like, and Tony could see the headlines now. Captain America racist to the English?!

Suddenly, the two men belly laughed, throwing their arms around each other, in a friendly manner, confusing the team even more.

"It's good to see you Steve." Otis beamed, patting Steve on the back.

"You too. You look great"

"I look like a pair of bollocks." Otis chuckled. "You look decent. Taller than me now, that's for sure."

"Say, there's a great bar just down the street. Great guinness." Steve nodded towards the bar. Otis cracked a grin.

"Lead the way, mate."

Bruce watched the two men walk away, processing what had happened in such a short span of time. He had seven PHDs, was top in his field, but God help him if he had a clue what just occurred.

"I guess we'll see him later." Bruce shrugged, the others nodding in agreement.


	8. Homeland

**I don't know where exactly Sarah and Joseph were from, but I'm going to say Galway, kinda because I listened to Celtic Women.**

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Tony made a lot of impulse trips. He had a private jet and his suit, so travel was pretty easy for him. That being said, impulse was usually Tony's area, so when Steve said they were going to Galway, everyone was surprised.

Galway was a beautiful place, crisp clean air and bright colors of the shops made it a fantastic getaway. They had flown in on Tony's private jet, and as soon as they had landed, they went to the bed and breakfast that Steve reserved.

It was an old building, but beautiful. Run by an elderly couple, they didn't quite realize that the world's mightiest heroes were staying the night at the B&B. It was homey, comfortable, something they all liked a lot, though Tony was a little confused.

"I do have the money for a hotel, you know? I thought the jet was a giveaway on what I can afford." Tony said as Steve explained the sleeping arrangements. Natasha got her own room with a twin bed, while the guys all shared the family room with one double and three twins.

"Which is why I reserved rooms at the bed and breakfast. It'll be fun. Now draw straws." Steve held out his fist, five sticks in his hand. Bruce was the first to draw, drawing a long stick. Tony drew and let out a sigh of relief when he drew a long stick, not sharing the bed. Cling drew and shrugged when he drew a short stick, used to sharing a bed for some missions. Thor drew and grinned as he showed his stick, not sharing a bed either. So, Steve and Clint were sharing the double.

"Fair warning, I'm a cuddler." Clint laid on his side of the bed, grinning.

"That's alright."

They all slept well, and in the morning, they all met up down in the dining room, a few other guests making their plates. The innkeepers made a full Irish breakfast, and plenty of tea to drink.

"Maidin mhaith." Steve greeted Mrs. Farley, a look of surprise passing over her face before being replaced by a large grin.

"Ah! Maidin mhaith. Cén chaoi ar chodail tú?" She asked Steve.

"Iontach. Go raibh maith agat as do chuid fáilteachais." Mrs. Farley smiled at them all, only Thor understanding their conversation.

They ate their breakfast, enjoying the homemade flavor, and left to see the town. Steve was rushing and urging them to get into the van he rented for when they had arrived, and he drove them to the town centre, bursting with excitement the entire time.

"Ma would come to the town centre as a child with my grandma, it was a little bit different then, but the markets were the same." Steve beamed, handing out some of the free sample cheeses to the others.

Thor happily took the snack, biting it off the toothpick. It was a locally made goat cheese, called Ardrahan, very tasty.

"I like it. Another!" Thor took another sample, and then Bruce decided to just buy him a bag. Steve seemed to be so happy that they were enjoying the food.

He took them all around Galway, telling various stories about his ma. "Ma loved to come to the Salthill Promenade. She would walk along the shore with her parents, and swim even if it was too cold for everyone else. As tradition, you have to kick the wall at the end of the promenade, for goodluck." Or "Ma used to try and climb the Spanish wall. She never made it though." And "This is where ma first learned to play the tin whistle. She said she would perform with grandad every sunday." Also "The cliffs of Moher was her favorite place to be. She said it was magical."

It became all too apparent on why Steve decided to take this trip, as there was a constant theme in his stories and memories. Steve had driven them out into the countryside, the only signs of life being the hundreds of sheep roaming the green pastures. He pulled up to an old stone cottage, long abandoned and covered in growth. Steve was silent as he exited the rental van, taking with him a bag of items he bought from the shops. His shoulders sagged, breath hitching.

Natasha noticed the wetness of his eyes as he walked into the house, tracing his fingers on the walls. Steve seemed to know exactly where to go, and walked into a small room, possibly an old bedroom, and made his way to the far east wall.

Steve looked down at the small carving on the old stone wall, tracing the name as his eyes well with tears. It was him and the cottage, his team, his friends, they weren't behind him watching with worry. Not until Natasha approached him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"This is your mom's home, isn't it?" She asked, and part of Steve wanted to know how she figured it out, but he already knew.

"Yeah, it is." Steve nodded, his hand dropping from the name carved into the wall. Sarah Meighan. "It's her birthday today."

Steve turned back around to see the sad expressions of his friends, Natasha cupping his face and gently wiping away a stray tear. Smiling at her, Steve took out a bottle of Irish whiskey, a candle, a brownie, a lighter, some plastic shot glasses, and a flower. He placed them on a barely stable wooden table, pouring some shots for them all. He handed them out, then putting the candle in the brownie and lighting it. Steve held his shot glass up high, saying the toast his ma would say on his dad's birthday.

"May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face. And rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of His hand." He threw back the shot, the tears harder to hold back now, and falling freely.

Thor took his hand first, then Natasha, then Tony, Bruce, and Clint created a chain, standing close to Steve as he stared down at the tiny flame, quietly singing happy birthday in Gaelic.

"Lá Breithe Shona dhuit. Lá Breithe Shona dhuit. Lá Breithe, Lá Breithe. Lá Breithe Shona dhuit." Steve blew out the candle, taking the flower. It was quiet as they exit the old cottage, the sun going down. Turning back, Steve lay the flower in the doorway, giving one last look at the place his ma had called home a long time ago. "Happy birthday, ma."

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**Translations**

**Maidin mhaith- Good morning.**

**Cén chaoi ar chodail tú?- How did you sleep?**

**Iontach. Go raibh maith agat as do chuid fáilteachais- Amazing. Thank you for your hospitality.**


	9. Author's Note

**AUTHOR'S NOTE **

It has been a while, and sorry if I got your hopes up but I needed to update the progress of the story. This will be on a temporary hiatus, I have no inspiration for this story but I do for others, yet no motivation to write. It's chaos. I do plan on returning to Luck of the Patriot once my inspiration comes back, I plan on making fifteen chapters total before I complete the story. Sorry about this, but I can't think of anything. I never expected to like this story as much as I did, it was mainly for fun, but I want to complete it and hopefully I will.

Sincerely Mystery Missy


End file.
